The Benefits of Letting Go
by sissouthernink1994
Summary: So, I've finally let him go; Dr. John Watson is out of my life. Now I wait for him to either come back or for someone new to enter my life. Who knew it would take so long? Fate, my dear why are you taking so long? Full summary inside. Rating will change
1. Intro

The Benefits of Letting Go

**Warning:** This story involves a male/male love relationship. If you don't like, don't read. Rated T for now will change to M.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any part of Sherlock Holmes- no books, no movies.

**A/N:** This is my first official movie fic. I have written a one-shot called "What She Doesn't Know". It was based on chapter 16 of dollymop's fic "The Heart Wants". You should read it. I've had so much positive response to my one-shot and suggestions for me to explore the lives and love of these two gentleman. And so I have. I had no idea how emotional the words and situation seemed to some people. The responses have been awesome and I'm so glad people have enjoyed what was on my mind.

I've titled this "The Benefits of Letting Go" based on an old saying (proverb, adage, etc.) that if you love something (or someone), let it go. If it comes back to you then it's yours; if not then it wasn't meant to be. I've done that in a past romantic relationship and believe me it was not easy. So I know exactly how Sherlock felt; I'm guessing from some of the responses, some of you have too. Mine didn't come back, so it wasn't meant to be, but what about our lovely detective and doctor?

**Summary:** So I've finally done it; I let Dr. John Watson go, put him out of my life. Madame Sabrina says either he will come back or someone new will come in. Fine. But she didn't tell me what to do with the lonely nights and lonely feelings while I wait for fate to decide what is next for me. I want him next to me, holding me. I miss his voice, his touch, his kisses. I miss him. Fate, please hurry and decide. Are you sending John back to me or are you sending me someone new? I'm trying hard to fight the loneliness. My mind keeps telling me that I can spend the time passed out. The supplier has even been to see me because I've not purchased anything in a while. However, I promised- no drugs and I must remain true to my word. So fate, dear girl, how about a helping hand?


	2. The First Night: Sherlock

**Warning:** This story involves a male/male love relationship. If you don't like, don't read. Rated T for now will change to M.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any part of Sherlock Holmes- no books, no movies.

**A/N**: The detective's thoughts are in italics.

Chapter 1: The first night is the hardest- Sherlock

Detective Sherlock Holmes arrived back at his home in the most melancholy mood. It matched the weather perfectly as it had started to rain on the ride back. Blended in perfectly with his tears. Mrs. Hudson met him at the door, taking his coat and hat.

"There you are. I was hoping you would be back for the storm clouds came."

"I'm fine Mrs. Hudson." She looked closely at the detective's face.

"You most certainly are not. Are you feeling well? You look awful. Perhaps I should call for Dr. Watson-"

"No!" He shouted at her. She jumped at his response. "I mean…" He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I yelled Mrs. Hudson, but I've just left him and Mrs. Watson. Dr. Watson is no longer welcome here as long as I am a resident." He started walking up to his apartment. She decided to follow.

"I don't understand." He opened the door and held it open for her to enter.

"I'll explain everything if you can do something for me first."

"Of course. What do you need me to do?" He looked at her and then walked into his bedroom. He went to the cabinet in the bathroom and removed a black case from its "hiding" place. He came back in the room and handed it to her.

"Would you please destroy this for me?"

"What is it?"

"It's the last bit of drugs that I purchased. I need the case and all of the contents completely destroyed. Burn it if you have to; I can't be anywhere near it." Mrs. Hudson was confused and worried at the same time but she thought it best to wait for the man's explanation.

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes." She turned to leave. "I'll bring some tea and the pie from dinner. Then perhaps you can tell me what's going on."

Sherlock listened as her skirts rustled and he heard her footsteps on the back stairs. He felt a sense of pride in himself by giving her the case. It was a small sense, but pride nonetheless. He trusted her and he trusted that she would destroy it as she promised. He was going to try his best to make sure he kept his end of the conditions. He was sure he could find some other things to replace them- the drugs and John. After all, John was his main distraction from the drugs. _It has been quite a few years_ _since I've seriously taken anything_, he thought in reflection. Whatever was left inside the case may not have been potent enough to do anything. But with so much riding on his ability to stay sober, he couldn't trust it.

Mrs. Hudson came back upstairs with a tray holding tea and a plate for Sherlock. She placed the tray on the table and he invited her to sit with him.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, what in the world could be going on for you to say Dr. Watson is no longer welcome here? He used to live here."

"I know." He said after sipping his tea. "You know what has been going on between the doctor and I. I thank you for not telling anyone. His wife didn't know what was going on between us until she walked in on us a few nights ago."

"Is that what happened to the chair cushion?" He blushed as he nodded.

"She came to me last night and asked me to leave John alone, to let him be married. I hated her for that and probably will until the day I die. However, after Madame Sabrina's visit, I decided that I should. I should have let him go when he decided he wanted to marry her. But I couldn't; I love him. And probably will until the day I die."

"So you've chosen to leave him?"

"Yes. These…" He pulled out the papers and passed them to her. "…are the conditions for me leaving him alone. I _have_ to stay away from him. He can't help me on any cases; he can't patch up my wounds. He can't even come here because I live here." She read the papers while Sherlock attempted to eat something.

"Now I see why you needed me to destroy your case. But if you decide you want the drugs you can always go and buy them."

"Yes, however if I choose that route, I have to get dressed and catch a cab. Plus risk embarrassment and possible arrest. That's why I would always have the supplier come here. By not having anything close to me, it should give me enough time to talk myself out of it. Which I hope I always do."

"So what should I do when you are ill and have done something where you need a doctor?"

"If I'm ill enough to go to hospital, contact Mycroft and Sherringford. That is if either of them is available. But for general stuff and my needing patching, call whoever will come. Besides Dr. Watson, of course."

"Is there no one else I can contact?"

"If you're looking for people who truly care about me, unfortunately no. Just those two."

"These conditions are so…serious." She said handing the papers back to him.

"Mary Watson was very clear in what she expected. If figured if she's going to put demands on me then she should have demands as well."

"Did she have problems signing it?"

"Not at all. She was ready to sign before I had the chance to explain it all. John was the one who hesitated. He really didn't want to do it, but I begged him to."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, I must say I'm proud of you and surprised at the same time. Those are not two things that I never thought I'd say about you and in the same sentence no less. It's very brave to do what you're doing. I know how much the two of you mean to each other. I've heard just as many of your conversations as much as I have your… activities." Sherlock smiled at her politeness. "But I must say you have really surprised me. I was so sure that you would make Mary Watson's life a living hell by continuing the relationship."

"We can't really; it wouldn't be fair to any of us. Any time that we could spend together, I would cherish of course, but it would be the same thing for her. John has been through enough, going back and forth between us. And besides," he paused "she's expecting, or so she says. And I know deep down John has thought about being a father. I know he has the capacity for it; look at how he has taken care of me. The only thing I despise about it is that she is using it against him. And he is too good of a man to divorce her."

"So he doesn't know for sure if she is with child?"

"Unfortunately no. So until she begins to show, it's her word."

"Mr. Holmes, do you think she would do something as evil as that? If she wasn't pregnant, in nine months time she'd have to produce a child."

"Or say it died."

"Detective Holmes!"

"Well, Mrs. Hudson I certainly wouldn't put it past her. I have heard if instances where this has happened. The doctor was bribed to say the child had died. However, if it turns out that she is not, John will be devastated; it would most certainly break his heart. He would have given up our relationship for his child only to find out said child doesn't exist, maybe never existed." Mrs. Hudson shook her head in disbelief.

"What a tangled web some people weave."

"Yes, and she has made a messy but efficient one."

* * *

After his dinner, Sherlock looked about the apartment for something to do. He had a few messages from people who were trying to procure his services. Right then didn't seem to be a good time to look at them. He didn't feel like looking at the paper. The idea of music in his ears and under his fingers didn't even appeal to him so hi violin stayed in the case.

He glanced around the room at his many volumes of books, writings and crazy experiments. Nothing seemed to soothe the detective's restless behavior. He sat in the chair, John's chair and his thoughts immediately turned toward him. Around this time, John would probably be getting ready for bed. He would have had his bath and relaxed himself. He would have gone over his patient notes and list for the following day. His clothes would be hanging and ironed, ready to wear. Then to bed.

Sherlock decided to turn in himself. Rarely done this early in the evening. It was just after 10:30. He hung up his suit in the wardrobe. He had only worn it a few hours today, so it was still clean. As he did so, he found a surprise- a shirt of John's. No doubt, the detective borrowed it and forgot he had it. John probably thought the shirt a lost cause. Sherlock took it out of its hiding place and smiled as he inhaled the scent of Dr. John Watson. He hugged the shirt close to him, wishing it were the man instead of material.

He did manage to make it to the bed before the tears started. _I thought I had cried it all out at_ _the house; I guess I didn't_. He tucked himself under the covers, knowing that the sheets were the only things that would be keeping him warm tonight. The shirt had a similar scent to that of John's pillow. Sherlock's thoughts when back to when they first discovered their feelings for each other.

They had been friends, odd friends at that. They fought, argued all the time. Friends fought and Holmes thought nothing of it. But they fought like a married couple. They had seen each other naked at some point in time through changing clothes, fixing wounds, changing wounds. They had long conversations, some saw the sun come up before they saw resolutions. They would go to the boxing matches, often coming home arm-in-arm too drunk to walk or stand alone. It was nothing for them to share a bed. The apartments and rooms would be cold, freezing sometimes. It was for warmth, they never thought anything of it.

Then one day, while John was changing the dressing on one of Sherlock's wounds, he felt his body tingle. He felt his face flush, as if John had told him a dirty joke. And indeed, if Dr. John Watson _had _told a dirty joke, he would have made anyone blush. Those men who served in the Armed Forces heard and said so many uncensored things. Sherlock begin to think about their conversations, how they were there for each other, how they cared. And his feelings toward John began to change, but he dare not tell him. It would ruin his reputation as a great doctor if people thought ill of him. And he couldn't have that.

He even asked John what he thought about homosexuality. He didn't want the church's view or the law's; he wanted John's. John didn't seem to have an opinion one way or the other. And usually he did. Sherlock realized that he was falling in love with John, but didn't know how to tell him. He figured it out when the jealousy crept in. He was jealous of the ladies who asked John to accompany them to the opera or symphony. He was jealous of the ones that John asked out on dates. Oh, he and Sherlock went on "dates"- dinner, opera sometimes. But they could never be what he really wanted. They couldn't dance together in public; they certainly couldn't kiss in public.

_Ah, the kiss_. Sherlock remembered the first one between them. They had been to the pub, celebrating something. _What were we doing there? Oh yes, Chester Hawthorne's birthday_. He was mainly a friend of John's but when John was stumped medically about something (which was rare), he would ask Chester. They were both drunk beyond any level that either of them had experienced before. Neither of them was able to remember how they got home. Sherlock had nearly passed out on the stairs. John picked him up and carried him bridal style to the apartment, both men laughing the whole time. Once inside, the detective attempted to stand on his own two feet, but leaned on John for support. Their lips bumped together for a moment as he did. The kiss was very sloppy probably lasted about three seconds.

"Watson, d'you know you kiss like a fish?" Came the slurred words from the detective.

"Yeah, probably a drinken one."

"Drunken."

"What?"

"You said a drinken one. You're drunk. If you're drunk then the fish would be drunken too right?"

"Huh? Oh. Right. I guess."

"Aha! I knew it. He said he wasn't but I knew better." The detective swayed again and John caught him.

"Who knew what?" Sherlock gave John confused look.

"Who knew what? Who knew? What? Zat a trick question? 'Cause you don't get to ass those when yous moving 'round like that."

"I'm not moving 'round, you are. And you said you knew he wasn't. Who knew what?"

"Back to that again are we?"

"Oh nevermind. Come on then."John was almost dragging him to the bedroom.

"John, you know you're the only person who's ever loved me. For me. Nobody loves me. For me." John nodded and chalked it up to drunken chatter. Together, they finally made their way to the bedroom. They managed rather sloppily and slowly to change into sleepwear.

"Oh shove over will you?"John asked. "You're taking up quite a bit of space."

"Sorry, old boy." Sherlock replied. He was laying in a diagonal direction across the bed. He curled himself up on one side of the bed so John would have room. He looked at John who was bathed in moonlight from the window and smiled. John smiled back. "You know, I love you too." He eyes were shiny. Whether the shininess was alcohol induced or not, John couldn't tell.

"Yes, love…you…too." John replied as his words tailed off, indicating that sleep had arrived.

The few days that followed left Sherlock pondering the kiss. Granted, it wasn't much of a kiss but a kiss nonetheless. He began to wonder if he should even tell John what he had been feeling. It was the only way to see if they felt the same. _What should I ask? How should I ask it? I hope I don't make a fool of myself. He'll forgive me if I do; he always does._ The doctor had just poured tea for them and was about to offer his friend some when he noticed that Sherlock was strangely quiet. It wasn't contemplating-a-case- quiet, it was I'm-worried quiet.

"Are you alright?"The detective was in a daze, but John's concern brought him out of it.

"Hmmm? I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"I asked if you were alright. You seem rather quiet which is unusual for you."

"I was just thinking." He said as he rose to walk to the table.

"About what?"

"Our drinking adventure the other night. I kissed you didn't I?"

"Yes, but you were drunk. And were rambling on about nobody loving you except for me."

"No, that wasn't rambling, that was the truth. You are the only person who loves me."

"And Mycroft and Sherringford?"

"We're related. They don't have a choice. You _choose_ to love me. And I _choose_ to love you." John was taken aback by this statement. He did have feelings for the detective, but he kept them to himself. Now maybe was the time. "Why do you love me?" The question Sherlock asked made him seem, child-like.

"One might say I love you because you are in need of love."

"That easy?"

"Yes. I can't really just point out one thing over another. Why do you love me?"

"Because you love me. I know that you are a kind, gentle soul. You are a gentleman; you have deep concern for me. You even stick your neck out for me. No one does that for me." They were standing eye to eye and Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John's lips. It was a soft peck but the moment warranted more. He placed a hand on either side of John's face and kissed him again. This kiss was yearning and gentle. John could feel his hands reach around Sherlock's waist, bringing the detective closer. The angle of their heads changed and as they did, their tongues met in mutual curiosity. Sensual and sweet are the words Sherlock would have used to describe this moment. The butterflies he felt had released themselves and the warmth of love and acceptance began to fill their space. The kiss continued with a life of it's own until the two men needed air. Panting, they reluctantly pulled apart.

"John…" Sherlock whispered, looking into John's blue eyes. The blue eyes looked back with love.

"Yes, my love?"The detective could only smile at those words. He was speechless with emotion and the only way he could express it was the tears that flowed down both cheeks. "It's ok" was John's reply as he gently wiped a few tears away with his fingers.

_My Love_. My love- those two words meant the world to Detective Sherlock Holmes. And the only person who had ever said them, was now out of his life. His tears flowed at the loss his heart was feeling. Tonight there would be no comfort, save John's shirt and pillow. No kisses, no warm embrace, no words of love being whispered, no love being made. Just the laments of a lonely detective, crying for his lover's presence.

"…John…John…I love you…"


	3. The First Night: John

**Warning:** This story involves a male/male love relationship. If you don't like, don't read. Rated T for now will change to M.

**Disclaimer**: Please see intro.

**A/N**: The doctor's thoughts are in italics for this chapter. Thanks so much for the reviews so far. If you read the first chapter, reread it and found something a little different, it is. I found some mistakes that I didn't see the four times (**4 times!)** I read it before posting it. Some were silly little mistakes too. But no one complained, so I guess no one saw it. It makes a difference to me though. Also, I did have one reviewer tell me that the cocaine (sometimes referred to the 7% solution) was perfectly legal to use (purchasable at the pharmacy) so there would be no reason for Sherlock to be ashamed or risking arrest. After doing a little research I found out my reviewer was right. Before I started writing, I knew that homosexuality was illegal. However, I'm going to leave it in because of how the story has been sketched out. You'll see why down the line.

Chapter 2: The first night is the hardest- John

Dr. John Watson sat at his desk, looking at the conditions of his break-up with Sherlock Holmes. He had taken his bath and was sitting in his robe. His clothes were already prepared for the next morning. He had already looked over his patient list and notes for the next day. By any other checklist, he should have been ready for bed. He just couldn't bring himself to leave his desk.

He stared at the paper in front of him. Sherlock's handwriting dispensing the details was very clear. There were no smudges, no spelling or grammar mistakes. It was a perfect document. He just couldn't believe Sherlock had written such a thing. And even harder to believe was that he, Dr. John Watson had signed it.

_Mary didn't even let him finish reading it. She was too happy to sign it. She wanted him out of our lives. No, she wanted him out of __**my**__ life. How could she make such demands on him and me? We are adults; we know what we are doing. We know what we feel between us. Now I feel that I never should have married Mary. I'll never love her the way I love him. Never. _

John repeatedly read the conditions, as if something were to drastically change when his eyes scanned the page. This would be difficult to keep his end of it. Not seeing Sherlock Holmes would be the hardest thing he would ever have to do. Harder than medical school, harder that being in the army. He couldn't see him, couldn't talk to him, couldn't help him. If Sherlock was sick or wounded, there was nothing he could do, but pray.

The rainy, windy night made the trees outside cast the most fascinating shadows on the sitting room wall. It reminded John of some of the nights he and Sherlock spent together. He particularly loved the ones they shared where the light was low; sometimes it was from the fireplace, candles or the lamp. He absolutely loved the detective's profile in the low light. His skin didn't seem so pale, but it did make him look angelic and sweet. Most times, he was anything but that. John loved how Sherlock's blushing skin looked in the dim light after being caressed. Each gentle touch brought more passion than the one before it. Whispers in the dusky lit room seemed to shout from the rooftops. Each kiss burned with love and engraved emotions inexpressible any other way. Moments in afterglow were precious and plentiful. Now they would just be treasured memories.

John sighed and felt his eyes beginning to fill with tears as he realized what he had lost. Sherlock was his best friend, the one he told his most cherished secrets to. When he had to give a patient an unfavorable diagnosis, he needed someone to tell; he couldn't handle all that information by himself. He had someone to drink with and on more than one occasion get drunk with. He had someone to watch the fights with. Someone to defend his honor on the ring; Mary could never do that. Sherlock helped with his money and gambling problems. They were constant companions, worthy chess opponents, lovers of music and fine dining. They loved the local fish and chips shops. He had someone who loved him unconditionally, never wanted to change him. And why did he give that up?

He gave it up to marry Mary. He gave it up so neither of them would be found out and arrested. John feared that Sherlock would not last long in the jails. As serious as the crime would be, he would have been put in with the roughest of the rough. He was too delicate for that. Oh, Sherlock Holmes could fight, but after a few days of hand-to-hand combat, he wouldn't have had much chance of surviving. The "crime of homosexuality/sodomy" was a horrible crime to be arrested for. It was tough enough for The Almighty to look down on you but the whole city of London as well? That was a bit much for him to even think about.

No, he did not want his lover in jail. Sherlock needed to be on the case for someone, looking for lost jewels or finding a missing person. Marriage was a way for John to redeem himself, a way for him to reverse the sins he had committed. At least that's what he told himself. He could be a husband to Mary, have a couple of children and continue in his practice. All he had to do was not love Sherlock Holmes. Easier said than done.

He wasn't sure if Sherlock was going to attend the wedding. He was the best man. John feared that when it came to that part of the ceremony when people had a chance to voice their opinions that Sherlock would have spoken up and professed his love for John, shocking everyone in the church. John held his breath, not knowing what would happen. If Sherlock had spoken his heart's desire, they would have been arrested on the spot. The silence let John breathe a sigh of relief, which Mary noticed. Later she would ask him why he thought someone would have spoken up at that moment. His reply, "Oh, you never know dear." It was the only thing he could say to keep his secret.

Loving Sherlock Holmes would always be his deepest joy. This joy would bring more to his life sometimes than the practice of medicine. He honestly tried to remain faithful to his wife. The secrecy of it fueled his craving for it. The adrenaline rush of being caught excited him. John was always telling himself, that he needed to stay home, but he couldn't. He was literally the moth drawn to the flame that was Detective Sherlock Holmes. The sexual release he experienced could never be achieved with Mary. She couldn't compare. The things the men did together were wrong and sinful but they couldn't help themselves. Sometimes all John needed was to be in his lover's presence, to hold his hand. In order to continue their secrecy, John had to come up with some wild excuses for Mary and she believed them. After a while, the excuses ran out and he would leave after he thought she had gone to bed.

The tears began to flow as he thought of the wonderful times they had spent together. It broke his heart know to that Sherlock was at home, by himself. The detective would be no doubt crying his eyes out with no one there to comfort him. John was praying that Sherlock would keep his promise and stay away from the drugs. Tonight would have been one of those nights. The combination of their break-up and the rainy weather was downright depressing. Sherlock could take something and be out for days. And John couldn't do a thing about it. He took out his journal and began to write.

Mary had noticed that John had not come to bed yet, so she came downstairs to see what he was up to. The door to the sitting room was open and what she heard stopped her in the shadows. She could hear John crying and whispering the detective's name. And it was more than just crying, John was sobbing. She peeked into the room and saw the pain and anguish of heartbreak engraved on his face. John's tears fell upon the very paper he had signed earlier, next to and mingling with his lover's. She strained to hear his whispers.

"Sherlock, my love, what have we done? What are we going to do? How can I live without you in my life?"

Mary was very nearly shocked, but she should have known from their tears and longing glances at each other earlier, that being apart wasn't going to be easy for them. But they promised; they all did. She was pretty sure they were going to keep their distances and not see each other. She didn't factor in how hard it would be for them to stop thinking about each other, to stop loving each other. At that moment, she hoped she wasn't fighting a loosing battle before she even had a chance to gear up for war.

John buried his head in his hands and sobbed uncontrollably. He felt lost and out of place. They signed the papers because it was the right thing to do; he had to keep telling himself that. He eventually collected himself, turned off the lamp at his desk and went upstairs. From the stillness of the room, he assumed that Mary was asleep. He quietly got into bed, careful not to disturb her. As he covered up and laid his head on the pillow, he couldn't help but think about his beloved detective.

After a considerable amount of time, Mary could hear the evening of John's breath. She crept out of bed and snuck downstairs to his desk. There was enough moonlight flowing through the window that she didn't need to turn on the lamp. She looked at the desk to see if she could find what he had been writing. It was there in plain sight- his journal. He probably left it here because he thought I wouldn't read it, she thought. On the open page was a letter he had penned to the detective.

_ Dearest Sherlock,_

_My love, I'm writing this letter to you, but you will never receive it as per our signed conditions. I cannot fully express my feelings at this moment. It has just been a few hours since you have officially left me and I miss you terribly. As I'm writing this, I can almost hear you whisper my name, telling me to put my notes away and come to bed with you. Oh, how I wish that I could! How will I survive without our conversations over tea? How will I go on without your kisses, caresses and love for me? How? I don't know what the future holds for us, but you will always have my heart. I will try my best to be a good husband to Mary and a good father to my child. However, my heart belongs to you, my love. Every single inch of it, is yours. I hope you know that. If you have to move on, please do. I cannot ask you to wait for me. I remember the night we promised to be lovers forever. Maybe we still can be, one day. We might be old and gray and past it, but if we have the chance to be together I hope will we take it. Be safe my love, please take care of yourself._

_ Forever yours,_

_ John_


	4. The First Night: Mary

**Warning:** This story involves a male/male love relationship. If you don't like, don't read. Rated T for now will change to M.

**Disclaimer**: Please see intro.

**A/N:** Thanks to all who have reviewed and alerted this story. If any of you have read my fics before then you know I love, love, love high numbers and reviews. I tried to send a message to everyone who alerted and/or reviewed but there were quite a few. So here is a shout out section…

*A huge Thank You goes to** DieKittyDie**. I just found out that this fic has been added to "An Unconventional Place" a Sherlock Holmes community. I think "What She Doesn't Know" has been added as well.

*Thanks to the following people for reviews and alerts: **bowsie22, Hyper_Kidd007, Dayja, FagandNewYorker, poisonkey1, and Yahari.**

Mary's thoughts are in italics.

Chapter 3: The first night is the hardest- Mary

_**Dearest Sherlock,**_

_**My love, I'm writing this letter to you, but you will never receive it as per our signed conditions. I cannot fully express my feelings at this moment. It has just been a few hours since you have officially left me and I miss you terribly. As I'm writing this, I can almost hear you whisper my name, telling me to put my notes away and come to bed with you. Oh, how I wish that I could! How will I survive without our conversations over tea? How will I go on without your kisses, caresses and love for me? How? I don't know what the future holds for us, but you will always have my heart. I will try my best to be a good husband to Mary and a good father to my child. However, my heart belongs to you, my love. Every single inch of it, is yours. I hope you know that. If you have to move on, please do. I cannot ask you to wait for me. I remember the night we promised to be lovers forever. Maybe we still can be, one day. We might be old and gray and past it, but if we have the chance to be together I hope will we take it. Be safe my love, please take care of yourself.**_

_**Forever yours,**_

_**John**_

Her eyes filled with tears as she read the emotions of her husband. Mary covered her mouth with the hopes that she wouldn't scream and wake John up. At first, she was numb, no feeling at all. Then all she could feel was pain. It started with her heart; she felt crushed. She looked down in defeat and expected to see her heart in millions of pieces around her feet. The feeling began to multiply through out her body. She felt dizzy and swooned, her legs collapsed beneath her and she grabbed John's chair before she fell. As she sat, it began to hit her that John no longer loved her; maybe he never did.

Her hands shook and she clasped them together in a feeble attempt to get them to stop. Mary groaned as her stomach bubbled in despair. _That, that man, has __**my**__ John's heart in his hands! My John. _She shook her head in disbelief. Her shoulders, shaking from her sobs._ I don't understand this. Does he care for John more then I do? How can John love __**him**__ more than me? _

Then she felt pitied. John was only staying with her because she was pregnant. He was only staying with her so she would still be regarded as a lady in society. No one would look down on her as a woman who couldn't make her marriage work. She wouldn't be known as the woman whose husband left her for a man. She could keep her dignity. But at what price?

John was giving up his life and true happiness for her. The life he secretly wanted but wouldn't dare speak of. He was giving up the man he loved. She never thought that she would see the day that Dr. John Christopher Watson had more love in his heart for someone else instead of her. But she saw it earlier that evening. When John let his tears flow, she saw it. When his heart melted at the detective's emotions, she saw it. When he signed the papers, she saw it. He loved Sherlock Holmes. And she finally saw it.

Lastly, she finally felt her anger. Her tears had been flowing down her cheeks and she was careful to not let them fall and mingle with John's tears in the book; he would surely notice it. Now those tears were hot, just as her face was. Her body now shook with fury, not pain. Mary took her hand and forcefully wiped her face, slinging the tears away, letting them fall wherever. _I'm crying and he's upstairs asleep! How dare he marry me, lie to me, lie to himself. And God! He lied to __**God**__. Surely, there is no forgiveness for that. Does he think he can escape God's wrath?_ With anger, she flung herself out of John's chair and began to pace the room. The same words she felt in pain repeated themselves in anger.

_That man. That clingy bastard! That man, has my John's heart in his hands! My John, my husband. This makes no godly sense. Does he really care for John more then I do? Does he even know what love is? He is barely capable of existing as a human being. What kind of man doesn't bathe, doesn't make himself presentable to society? What kind of man uses drugs and just passes out? He doesn't know the first thing about feelings. Sherlock Holmes is incapable of feelings! He is selfish, rude, mean, and no closer to being a gentleman than a discarded teabag. How can John love him? Love __**tha**__t? How can he love someone who bloody well can't take care of himself? How can he love someone who is so dark and twisted and… and… demented? He is just as demented as his crazy experiments. How can John love him more than me? How? I love him. I. LOVE. HIM._

She walked out of the sitting room and to the bottom of the stairs. She fought against everything inside her to call up the stairs and wake John up. He needed to feel her pain and her anger. He needed to know how it felt to be left out. She placed her hands over her barely showing belly.

_I'll show him! Wretched detective! Sorry excuse for a man! I will do whatever it takes to keep John. Sherlock Holmes had better stay out of my way if he knows what's good for him. And even if he __**doesn't**__, he should be wary all the same. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And__** I**__, Mary Watson have been scorned. _

_

* * *

_

**A/N2**: Don't be mad, I know this was short. But pay attention, spoilers were enclosed. I also don't know what Dr. Watson's middle name was and I couldn't find it so I made one up. I think it fits well.


	5. The Morning After

**Warning:** This story involves a male/male love relationship. If you don't like, don't read. Rated T for now will change to M.

**Disclaimer**: Please see intro.

**A/N:** Since I've started writing this fic, my four-year-old nephew has taken to watching Sprout. One of his favorite cartoons is Kipper the Dog. Sometimes watching Kipper and Tiger reminds Sherlock and John. One of the episodes I saw the other day even had those two taking a bath together. Yep, cute and gay lol! John's thoughts in _italics_, Sherlock's _**bold italics**_. Oh, one other thing…if you are on twitter you can follow me (at symbol) **sissouthernink**. I promise to follow back.

Chapter 4: The Morning After

Sherlock Holmes quietly woke up with the gentle rising of the sun. Most days he would greet the sun. Not because he was an early riser but because he would stay up all night working on cases, experiments. Sometimes playing music. Sometimes talking with John. _**John**__,_ he thought. Today would be the first full day of their agreements. He knew that he would have to get out of bed eventually and face his reality. He decided to stay in bed for a while and watch the sky turn from grey, to light grey and eventually blue. John's shirt had comforted him the previous night. But he knew it would only last for so long. If said shirt would end up in the laundry, what then?

He forced himself to sit up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor. His shoulders drooped with sadness. He pushed himself up off the bed, stood and stretched. For a brief second he contemplated getting back into the bed and staying there, but he promised to be good and take care of himself. He promised. Besides, if he felt tired later or depressed he could get back in bed. At least he would have gotten up.

After performing morning routines and dressing, he grabbed the messages that had been left for him. Mrs. Hudson met him as he was walking out.

"Well, I'm surprised to see you up and about this morning."

"I do have these messages to check up on. And I thought a walk in the morning air might help me get started."

"Good for you Detective. Perhaps I will see you later this evening. I shall be doing the washing in a bit. Anything in particular to go in?"

"Not really." He said as he turned to leave. "Oh, there is a shirt on the bed that belongs to John."

"Shall I send it?"

"No, not yet. Right now I need it."

"Very well then. Enjoy your day."

"Thank you. Same to you."

He walked out into the fresh London air. It was clean from the rainy night before and smelled sweet. Turning the corner from Baker Street, he bought a paper from one of the local newsboys and headed towards his favorite little café. It wasn't a big place, but it saw its decent share of London's business. The walk drummed up his appetite, something he didn't usually have in the morning. But today was a new day, he was keeping his promise. Once inside and seated he ordered his usual- two soft eggs, sausages, a scone and tea. While waiting, he scanned through the paper for opportunities, i.e. unsolved crimes.

"I wonder what Lestrade is working on today." He said aloud, but to himself.

"Well, I do have a few things I could use your expertise on, if you'd care to grace the station with your presence." Sherlock moved the paper from in front of his face, just below his eyes and looked over the top of it at Inspector Lestrade.

"And what makes you think _**I**_ want Scotland Yard in _my_ presence?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, weren't you just asking what I was doing today?"

"Yes, to myself…"

"Aloud, to yourself?"

"Yes, aloud to myself. Today, I just happened to want to hear my own voice." He gave the inspector a smirk. "And heaven has nothing to do with it. As a matter of fact, I have several messages here for me that I will be checking up on. So I may in fact be too busy to, as you say, grace you and your crew, with my presence."

"Very well. Have it your way then." Lestrade said as the young counter boy brought him a bag. He gave the boy some money and indicated that he could keep the change. "You know where I am when you get bored."

"The fact that you think I only help you out when I'm bored is utterly ridiculous. I only go where my talents are needed and accepted."

"Ha! You'll need a shovel for that load of crap Detective. You bombard my station all the time!"

"Point proven." Lestrade started to say something, but kept his tongue, shook his head and headed out the door.

All was quiet at the Watson house. Deathly quiet. John and Mary sat across from each other in the kitchen. He was reading the paper and she was sipping her tea.

"John, must you read the paper at the table _now_?" Mary whined. John folded down the right side and looked at her over the top of his eyeglasses.

"I _do_ like to be informed before I leave the house in the morning Mary. Besides, I have a full day of patients. By the time I have a chance to breathe, nothing in it will be relevant anymore and the newsboys will be hounding me to buy an evening paper on the way home." He went back to reading.

"You could take some time and talk to me." She said quietly as she stirred more honey into her tea. John sighed heavily, folded the newspaper and placed it on the table.

"Fine then. What would you like to talk about Mary?" He asked, removing his glasses and setting them on top of the paper.

"You'll be with patients all day?"

"Yes I just told you that. Why do you ask?"

"I was going to interview some girls today, for help around the house and I thought you might be able to interview them with me."

"Help? Help for what?" John folded his arms across his chest.

"Now that I'm with child," The doctor rolled his eyes. "You know I won't be able to do the chores after a while. Lifting the wash, standing, and cooking. And there's a history of fragile wombs in my family you know-"

"No, I didn't know."

"Well, there is and I just want to make sure I don't do anything to jeopardize the baby."

"I see." John said. He thought a minute. "And how much will this help cost?" She shrugged.

"Depends on what they quote to me. And if I can find everything I need in one person." She paused. "Lillian Shells said that if I couldn't find anyone to my liking that I could borrow one of her girls for a while."

"Do you really think that you need someone? Even now?"

"John, why are you taking this so lightly?"

"Why are you making this a big deal?"

"Because it is, it will be."

"I think you're overreacting."

"Overreacting? You don't even believe I'm pregnant do you?"

"Did I say that?"

"No, but you are implying that I'm not."

"Mary the only thing I'm **implying** is that you don't need any help _right now_. Wait a few months and then see what you need."

"This is ridiculous!" Mary exclaimed as she stood up from the table. "If you're not going to be happy then I can't be happy is that it huh?"

"Mary what in the devil are you talking about?" He asked standing.

"You can't have your precious detective so _**I**_ have to suffer without the things _**I**_ need?"

"And how does he fit into all this? We all, ALL, signed those papers last night. All of us. Sherlock has nothing to so with this. WE are discussing whether you need some help around the house. Which I don't think you do. Not yet. This is about something else."

"Something else?"

"Yes."

"What else could we be talking about?"

"How about you climbing the social ladder?"

"What?" Mary now seemed a little rattled that John might be on to her agenda.

"You'll have no problem fitting in now that you know your husband won't be dallying about with his male lover. You don't have to be embarrassed anymore that someone may find out my past secrets. You don't have to worry about me not coming home to you. You don't have to worry about me leaving you in the middle of the night. Don't you get it Mary? You've won! I'm here. I signed the papers and I'm here." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "And now I'm off to the office. We will **not** have this conversation again." John walked out of the kitchen and to his office to pick up his briefcase. He grabbed his overcoat from the hook, his cane and walked out of the door.

By mid afternoon Sherlock had visited the people who were requesting his services. He now had four new cases in which to keep him occupied. He was near Scotland Yard and debated if he should go in. On one hand, he didn't know how long these four cases would take him. On the other, he could wait a few days and Lestrade would probably still be working on whatever it was he was trying to entice Sherlock with that morning. The detective shrugged it off and continued walking. He came to the building where Chester Hawthorne practiced medicine. Again, he debated going in, but he needed to know something very important. The nurse greeted him as he walked in.

"Good Afternoon sir."

"Afternoon." He said tipping his hat. "Is Dr. Hawthorne available? I need to speak with him."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't."

"Please wait here. I will see if he has a few minutes to see you. Whom shall I say is here?"

"Detective Sherlock Holmes." The nurse gave him an odd look. Some how he didn't look like the man she had always pictured. "Oh, I just need a few minutes, nothing like an exam." She nodded that she understood. Sherlock stood in the empty waiting room. Must have cleared all his patients for the day, he thought. The area was clean and neat, like John's. But before he could sit and get comfortable, the nurse came back.

"Dr. Hawthorne will see you now Detective." He followed her down the hallway to his personal office

"Ah, Detective Holmes what a surprise!" He said as they shook hands. He motioned for Sherlock to take one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Please have a seat."

"Thank you, but I won't be long."

"Well, how can I be of service?"

"I was wondering if you would be able to assist me on some cases. A consultant so to speak."

"Any case in particular?"

"No, not at this moment however that could always change."

"I see." Chester said as he settled back into his chair. "So you don't know how often you would need me do you?"

"No, just as the cases come to me."

"And experiments?"

"I usually prefer to do those myself, much to my landlady's disappointment. When I don't receive the outcome I'm looking for, I will ask for advice."

"As long as I have a few minutes to look over your recorded results, I don't see that I will have much of a problem." Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" Chester called out. A lad of about ten years old opened the door and stuck his head in.

"Afternoon father."

"Ah, Gregory...school's out already?" He asked looking at his watch.

"Yes sir. Any chores for me?"

"We'll discuss that when I'm done consulting." The door opened further so he could see who was sitting in front of his father's desk.

"I apologize sir. I didn't see you sitting there."

"No apology necessary young man." Sherlock replied.

"Gregory this is Detective Sherlock Holmes, Detective my eldest son Gregory."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes I didn't know it was you. It's an honor to meet you sir." The boy stepped into his father's office to shake hands. Sherlock stood up and shook the outstretched hand.

"Same here."

"I'll leave you two." Gregory closed the door to the office.

"That's one well behaved boy you've got there."

"We try. Can't have me being as insolent and nonchalant as some of his schoolmates. Now we were discussing me consulting for you."

"Yes, what would you charge?"

"I wouldn't know what to charge."

"Suppose it was a second opinion?"

"That often depends on the patient. Perhaps we can work out a scale once we've worked together a few times."

"I supposed we could."

"Anything else Detective?"

"Uh…yes. What do you charge for visits, office or home? I need patching up from time to time when working cases."

"Battle scars?"

"You could say that. They range anywhere from cuts and bruises to broken bones."

"We'll put that on a case by case basis as well." Suddenly it struck Sherlock that this man had a family and that he might not be able to show up at the Doctor's house when the thought struck him. Nor could he send a telegram or message at any hour of the night. _**Didn't I put in a clause about me being safer and taking care of myself more? **_He thought. "Anything else?"

"No, that should do. Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Hawthorne."

"Please, you can call me Chester since we will be working together. I look forward to our first case."

"And I as well. Good day sir." He put his hat back on his head and left the office.

A few blocks down was John's office. All was not well there. Because of his disagreement- argument or fight- with Mary, he was in a bad mood. And his nurses tried very hard to keep it from catching. Sarah, the head nurse had to make him stop several times during the day and take breaks ten minute at a time. John was complaining that the office would be running behind, they assured him that everything was running smoothly. He wasn't sure if he believed them.

About lunchtime, he got a visit from a young lady who wasn't there to be a patient. She asked to speak with him and Sarah asked her to wait.

"Mrs. Watson sent me." the girl replied. After about a fifteen-minute wait she was escorted into John's office. Sarah was about to leave when John asked her to stay; he didn't like to leave anything to chance. "Good Afternoon Dr. Watson." John looked at her and the fifteen minutes he had just spent calming himself after he'd heard Mary sent her, had just flown out of the door.

"Yes, Mary sent you here. Why?"

"Yes sir the Mrs. sent me for your approval. She would like me to get started right away." John hung his head and took his glasses off.

"Your name?"

"Penelope Browne sir."

"And your references?"

"My what?"

"Your references, your resume, who you've worked for."

"Oh, just Mrs. Shells. I do laundry mostly, cook sometimes."

"I see." He replaced his glasses so he could see that he was serious. "What do you charge?"

"Oh not much sir. Just two bills a month."

"My wife is just a few weeks, maybe a few months pregnant. At this moment she is able to work in our house, however she thinks she isn't. Listen to me and listen well, no matter what my wife says. We will try you out for a month, weekends only. As her pregnancy progresses, we will discuss further employment."

"Oh thank you so much Dr. Watson!" She said. "Thank you, thank you."

"Yes, yes. Please leave your information with Abigail at the desk and I will see you Saturday morning." Penelope's smile was a wide as the Thames River. Sarah looked at her boss. "Don't even ask." Sarah shrugged and walked back out to the waiting room.

A few hours later, John decided that he needed some fresh air. His next patient wouldn't be in for another thirty minutes. So he walked down to the nearest eatery. While walking he saw Sherlock leaving Chester Hawthorne's office. _Wonder what he was doing there?_ Deep down John felt a little pang of jealously. There was only one reason that he could have been there, should have been there; he needed a doctor's advice for a case. _That should be me; I should be that doctor. That should be my advice he needs._ John should have been feeling happy that he had a chance to see his beloved detective. He should have been reveling in the fact that Sherlock was up and about; he didn't know how long he had been up but at least he was up. Instead, he was thinking how hard this day had been and how much harder the rest of his life was going to be.

As the day ended, it found Sherlock Holmes alone in bed again. His thoughts once again were of John. He wondered how his day had gone; he wondered if he missed him. He wondered if he had thought of the detective at all. This would be about the time that he would ask those questions; tonight there was no one to ask or answer them. _**I made it through the first day**_, he thought_**. I kept myself busy, but I couldn't help but think of him. Maybe tomorrow will be even easier.**_

That night before John went to bed, he wrote in his journal again. It was another letter to Sherlock that he wouldn't receive. In it he wrote of his fight with Mary and that, he had seen him coming from Chester Hawthorne's office. He wrote that he loved him and that this first day after was hard for him.

…_You looked beautiful this afternoon; clean and proper. Very much the gentleman I know you can be. Oh, how I miss you. Perhaps the coming days will be easier to bear. Do remember that I love you._

_John_


	6. The thirst for knowledge

**Warning:** This story involves a male/male love relationship. If you don't like, don't read. Rated T for now will change to M.

**Disclaimer: ** Please see intro.

**A/N:** Thanks to all of my new readers to this story. I'm sorry it has taken so long to update. I have fourteen stories open right now and about four miscellaneous open stories. Fourteen! What was I thinking? Sometimes I open them all and write a paragraph or two or spend a few days concentrating on a couple. Not sure why I did that.

I've been reading and researching our favorite detective. From my findings (or lack thereof for that "it" information) I've come to the conclusion that our favorite detective is a Gemini, like me. How did I arrive at this? He's highly intelligent (as _all_ Geminis are), his mind goes ninety to nothing (as mine often does), he always has too many irons in the fire (as most Geminis do- we aren't comfortable any other way), and he probably as conversations with people no one else can see (as do I). All Geminis have a twin or an alter ego. Mine has only made itself know to me in the past five years or so. Still figuring it out. Therefore, I'm going to add this play in motion, starting with this chapter.

So let's check in on our favorite doctor and detective, shall we?

Chapter 5: The thirst for knowledge

About a month had gone by and Detective Sherlock Holmes was proud of himself. He was keeping his promise, which surprised him. Sherlock never put much stock in children's tales but he seemed to take an interest in "The Tortoise and the Hare". His motto now seemed to be, steady and slow wins the race. Therefore, he was taking this major change in his life one day at a time.

He still thought of John, especially when he had a moment's peace. They certainly weren't ones that he created himself for his mind was always going. But on those rare occasions and peaceful nights when there was no casework, no experiments that his brain was eager to try, he thought of John. His thoughts were of what John was doing, how he was feeling, how he was getting along with Mary. Did he even think of the detective? For a man who felt his own existence was to receive knowledge, know everything about everything and to impart said knowledge, not knowing was nearly detrimental.

John was faring a little better. He and Mary still weren't on the best of speaking terms. Neither of them knew how to make it better. Deep down, way down in Mary's heart she didn't trust John. After sneaking and reading a few more of his letters to Sherlock, she felt that she could never trust him. John repeatedly told her that he and Sherlock were done; there was nothing for her to worry about. He pointed this out to her, on more than three occasions. And if they were going to be parents, to make the marriage work she would have to trust him.

"Confound it woman! I don't know what else I can _**do**_. Sherlock is where he is and I am here with you. You either trust me or you don't. And if we don't have trust, we don't have anything." Mary would often sulk for a while after hearing these words. She knew he was right, but something in her just wouldn't let it go. And it bothered her that she didn't know why.

The former lovers had crossed paths, each taking care not to let the other see. Sherlock became a master of disguise. No, king was more like it; he was already a master at it. When invited to the symphony or opera, he knew John would be there. So he would add moustaches, wear different suits or hats (mostly things John knew Sherlock _wouldn't_ wear) to hide in plain sight. John never spotted him in those clothes, but Sherlock always seemed to gaze longingly at John.

John would see the detective mostly out in public. They would be walking on opposite sides of the street. John might see him go into a restaurant or heading to Scotland Yard. Every time John saw his love, all he could think of was how lonely he looked. John didn't want him to be alone. The hope was that he would meet someone, discreetly of course. Maybe not so soon though. Sherlock wasn't one for making friends. Their relationship was the only thing the detective had, besides his cases.

Sherlock was pleased with his casework as of late. It was keeping him busy. However, it was becoming apparent to him how convenient it was to have John in his life. Dr. Hawthorne was excellent at his job consulting, but he was a family man and just wasn't always available at the time Sherlock's brain was in full gear. In his mind, he always knew there would be a time that Chester wouldn't be available. So he found a list of doctors in London and by getting suggestions and recommendations, narrowed them down to a few. Once these doctors had been informed of what Sherlock was looking for, they declined. His reputation went before him and they didn't want to be bothered.

The detective was at a crossroads in this journey. He had seen just about every doctor in London. Where was he going to find that all helpful medical expertise he sometimes desperately needed? He sat in the chair, John's chair and contemplated his problem. The fire gently roared as he sat with his legs crossed left over right. The pipe sticking out of the right side of his mouth had just about gone out. Sherlock's next thought was to ask John, try to figure out a way to ask him without asking him. _Maybe ask for a letter of recommendation from an anonymous source…_he thought. He got up to relight his pipe and shook his head at that suggestion. _John would recognize my handwriting and my wording. No, that won't do. _He paced the area in front of the fireplace, puffing on the relit pipe. _What if someone else were to write the letter?_ He walked to the window and looked out at the dark London night, as if the person to write this hypothetical letter would appear. There were a few cabs and even fewer people out in the night air. _No, it wouldn't work; John would see right through it. And I would have broken my own rules._ Sherlock leaned against the wall with his shoulder, quietly listening to the silence of the room, as if the silence was going to render an answer. The swishing of skirts and the distinct clicking of Mrs. Hudson's heels shortly broke that silence.

"I brought you some tea. Thought it might help with your thinking." He turned from his position on the wall to see her set the tray down on the table between the chair and the settee.

"I doubt it will; nothing else has helped. But I do thank you." She smiled.

"You'll solve whatever it is by morning, I know it. I'm going to have a good read tonight. I'm off to market in the morning; if there is anything you want leave a note for me."

"Good night Mrs. Hudson." Again, silence filled the room.

Sherlock began pacing the floor again, hands clasped behind his back, pondering what he should do. It wasn't _that_ important to have someone on call. Well, he never _really_ had anyone on call; John just…John just was there. _Did I take his expertise for granted?_ He wondered. _Perhaps I did, perhaps… _He walked over to the table and poured himself a cup of tea. As he sat, a question came to mind:

What kind of people do you consider to be smart and intelligent?

_Barristers, professors, noblemen (Although some of them are nobleman just because of bloodlines), doctors, old people…_

Doctors. How many people do you consider to be smarter than a doctor is? 

_**I**__ can be at times. Why do you ask?_

Who teaches doctors?

_Medical professors, I suppose. Why?_

If you can't find a doctor, find a medical professor. Sherlock took a sip of his tea then titled his head to the right.

_A medical professor. Hmmm. I never thought of that. Makes perfect sense though. Doctors have to learn somehow. A professor may have more time. It still doesn't help me if I need someone in the middle of the night._

No, it doesn't but at least you will have a second opinion handy if needed.

He sat back comfortably, enjoying the warmth of the fire. "Yes, I will," he said aloud.

* * *

The next morning found Detective Sherlock Holmes taking a cab to the University of London campus. There were many universities and colleges in the city but he felt this one would have all the answers he needed. Once he paid the driver and entered the gates, a security guard of sorts greeted him. Sherlock thought he looked like a Scotland Yard reject.

"Good Morning sir. How may I help you?"

"What makes you think I need help?"

"With all due respect, you don't look like a student sir." Sherlock looked about at the students crossing the campus. Some were in huge hurries; others were strolling in the crisp morning air.

"I could be a student."

"Aye, sir you could be but you wouldn't be dressed like that. Besides the administration doesn't enroll in the middle of the quarter." Sherlock shrugged at the little battle that he'd just lost. "Now, how may I help you?"

"Which way is St. Bartholomew's Hospital Medical School?"

"The east side of campus sir." He replied while pointing eastward.

"Thank you." Sherlock starting walking eastward when he heard the guard's whistle.

"One moment sir."

He turned to look at the guard and saw hi beckoning someone to come to where they were. "What was that for?"

"You'll need an inter-campus cab ride. It's a ways off sir." Sherlock waited and a smaller version of a London street cab came around the corner. "Bobby, please escort this gentleman to St. Bart's Administration Building."

"Aye Captain." Sherlock stepped into the mini cab and sat down. As they drove across the campus, the driver pointed out the buildings and various gates which one could enter the campus. It seemed to Sherlock that people would have to meet a security guard anytime anybody came to the campus who wasn't a student.

"Let me ask you something. How do the students get to class if the buildings are so far apart? You're making me take a cab to where I need to go."

"Well, sir the students have a block schedule. They spend so much time in one building for classes, take a break then go to another building."

"I see. And the dormitories?"

"They're in the center of campus just over there."

"In the center of everything yet they still have a ways to walk." Sherlock commented under his breath. The driver stopped at the place where the horses are supposed to stop and let Sherlock out. He tipped his hat to the driver and started towards the building.

Once inside, he could see the building was a fury of students and professors filing through the halls headed to their various destinations. He looked to the walls to see if he could find a map or a list of offices. After a few minutes of looking, he didn't see one. Sherlock must have looked too lost because a student came up to him.

"Are you lost?"

"I was looking for a list of offices but I don't see one."

"Where do you need to go?" The young man asked as he shifted his books from one arm to the other. "I can show you where it is."

"Administration. No, better yet, the dean of the Medical School."

"Great! It's right on my way. Follow me sir." They started down the hallway Sherlock immediately began bumping into students. "Oh, you might want to stick closer to the wall, sir. You'll bump into less people that way."

"Good to know." The detective replied. They finally made it through the maze of students to the dean's office.

"Dr. Hart is the dean but you've got to speak to Ms. Eggleston first, she's his secretary." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I've got class. Enjoy your day."

"Thank you, same to you." And the young man ran down the hall barely making it with his books.

Sherlock entered the office to find it filled with students. He hoped none of them needed to speak to the dean. It looked as if most of them were just filling out paperwork. New students maybe, he thought. The secretary looked up and noticed him. He did look quite out of place. He certainly looked older than the students did.

"Are you signing up to start next semester, turning in graduation intentions or selecting classes?" Ms. Eggleston asked.

"Uh, neither. I'd like to see the dean; I believe his name is Dr. Hart." She reaches for her appointment book.

"Do you have an appointment to see him?"

"No, I don't. Sorry."

"If you don't mind waiting a bit, you can probably see him in about forty-five minutes." He thought about it. He had come all that way, might as well wait.

"That's fine. Thank you."

"You can have a seat here." He smiled and nodded as he sat down. What was he going to do for forty-five minutes- what he did best…observe. Looking at the students, he could tell which one were the children of privilege; they were the ones with the least amount of patience. _That will make for horrible bedside manner_, he thought. He observed one student who was dropping out for a semester to work so he could have the money to continue. _He'll probably be the best out of his class. Humble and completely grateful_. After a few minutes, Sherlock was bored of that activity and he turned his skills towards the office staff. Ms. Eggleston looked like a middle-aged woman who was single; he didn't see a ring. He couldn't decide if she was divorced, hadn't married yet or starting her spinster hood. He smirked at the thought of her room full of cats waiting on her to get home.

After analyzing the staff, Dr. Hart was finally available to see him. Sherlock stepped into the office and was invited to take a seat.

"Well Detective how can we at St. Bartholomew be of assistance to you? Are you wishing to enroll?"

"Not at all Dr. Hart. I am in need to medical expertise. When working cases I occasionally come across something where I will need a medical opinion. I had a colleague whose talents are needed elsewhere. I do have one consultant right now but he has a practice and his time is limited."

"I don't understand how we can help."

"I think I can get the medical opinions I need from a medical professor. I should hope the professors here are capable. I just need a suggestion of a professor that you think would be interested. I just need one professor to work with. There would be a consultant fees based on the information."

"Ah, I see." Dr. Hart grabbed a list of the medical professors. "Any particular study of medicine?"

"I think general would be best. As the consultant they would be able to ask others for something specific if needed." Sherlock watched as the dean turned through the pages of names.

"Professor Stone, Professor Hawkins….uh maybe Professor Llewellyn. Yes, I think Professor Llewellyn would be the best choice."

"Is it possible for me to observe and meet the professor today?"

"Yes, he has a class just down in the lecture hall in about…" Dr. Hart pulled out his pocket watch. "...ten minutes. The students will be changing classes. I'll happy to escort you to the hall."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it." They stood up and Sherlock followed him back into the larger office area then into the hall.

"I've found walking closer to the wall makes it easier to navigate. You won't feel so much like salmon swimming up stream."

"So I've been told."

They made it to the lecture hall. On the wall hung a wooden slat board with the professors' names and course numbers neatly slid in place.

**E.E. Llewellyn General Anatomy 102-2.**

"Here we are detective. Professor Llewellyn should be in momentarily. The students are filing in but there are plenty of seats available. You'll get a chance to speak with him afterward."

"Good."

"Enjoy the class and I hope you find what you are looking for."

"Thank you. Yes, I hope I find it too."

Dr. Hart left for his office and Sherlock entered the classroom, looking for a seat. This lecture room was built in theatre fashion with steps leading down to the lecture floor. The desks looked uncomfortable. They were made of wood with a top that lifted so students had a place for their books. Sherlock draped his coat over the chair back before sitting down. He chose to sit in the middle of the class, to get a better understanding of what was being taught and discussed. The students didn't seem to pay him any attention as he sat with his legs crossed.

"Good Morning to all those I haven't spoken to yet," said the voice behind him. The students mumbled a greeting of sorts back. "Oh, you are quite the grumpy bunch this morning, eh? Was Professor Carter's test that bad?" Sherlock heard a series of affirmative answers from all over the room. "Well, maybe I can cheer you up. I have graded your subject essays." Without looking Sherlock could hear him coming down the steps. "Much more impressive this time around. Robert if you could please pass these out while I call the roll." The professor walked to the front and proceeded to call the roll.

_A boy. He looks like a boy. Just how old __**is**__ he? He looks just like the students! _Sherlock thought._ Perhaps this was a bad idea. How much wisdom and knowledge can he have at such a young age?_

Well, you were smart at his age. What makes you think you were the only one to have high intelligence at a young age? Give it a chance; you may just find what you're looking for.

The professor didn't notice Sherlock until he was done calling the roll.

"I wasn't aware of any new students. Welcome to General Anatomy."

"I'm not a student really; just here to observe. And thank you for the welcome."

"Observing eh? I hope the report will be good. I'm Professor Llewellyn and you are?"

"Detective Sherlock Holmes." The students gasped and turned their heads to see their visitor. Many of them had heard of the man, but had never seen him. Llewellyn was just as shocked as the class.

"Great day! Detective Holmes," He walked up the stairs to Sherlock's desk and held out his hand to shake. "It is indeed an honor and a pleasure to have you in my class this morning sir. I hope what we talk about today is beneficial to you." Sherlock shook the professor's hand.

"I think it will be. I'm just observing, please teach as you normally do."

"Very well then." The professor turned, headed back down the stairs to the lectern to teach.

* * *

After class, Sherlock observed how the professor answered the students' questions. He had to usher them out of the room so the next class could take place. Finally, the students were gone and the detective and professor were able to talk.

"Allow me to fully introduce myself. I am Professor Ethan Edward Llewellyn." Sherlock took a few seconds to look around the small office before sitting in the seat he was offered by hand gesture. "I've been teaching here for five years and I absolutely love it. Can't imagine myself anywhere else."

"I see. It makes me wonder how you avoided the family business. Seems like you were next in line to take it over."

"You know my family?"

"Yes. I've done work for you uncles Isaac and Theodore before."

"Ah, I see."

"So the life of a barrister wasn't for you?"

"No. I knew that before I became a teenager. Years and years of monotone repetition of laws and my Lord this my Lord that…it was enough to drive anyone to lunacy. I needed to do something else with my life. I'm happy with what I've chosen to do."

"First doctor in the family I presume?"

"Yes and first professor as well. So how can I be of assistance to you Detective? Are you here on official business for my uncles?"

"No, official business for myself. I am in need of a medical consultant on retainer for cases that I will be working on. My former consultant has a practice and it about to become a family man. The other also has a practice and already is a family man. I need someone who-"

"Isn't married, no practice and not a family man?"

"Precisely." Sherlock replied. "I would be able to bring the information here to you. I should think with your expertise I would have my results a few days later."

"And the retainer fee?"

"I don't mind if you choose to charge by the case; I've done it before. Or if you would like a percentage of what I earn, that's fine with me too." Ethan leaned back into his chair.

"I take it the money is not that important to you?"

"It is but solving the case is more important. Besides, I find the more grateful the client the bigger the payout can sometimes be." Ethan chuckled a bit.

"I knew it was there somewhere." He thought a moment. "I like challenges and puzzles and I'd like to see how I can help."

"Good. I hope you'll prove Dean Hart correct in his recommendation."

"When do I start?"

"Well, I don't have a case right now but that could change by day's end."

"Wonderful. Bring it by any time or I could stop by after or before classes. What's the address?"

"It's 221B Baker Street. If I'm not there you can leave it with my landlady Mrs. Hudson." Ethan wrote down the address.

"Great. You are welcome to sit in on classes anytime you wish. I can get you a syllabus on the remainder of classes in the quarter if there was something specific you wanted to sit through."

"I would appreciate it greatly. Well, I need to be going. I need to stop by Scotland Yard to see if there is anything of interest."

"I am Dean Hart recommended me. I'm happy to help in any way I can." Sherlock moved towards the door. "Remember when leaving to building, stick to the middle with the crowd."

"Thank you for the advice."

As Ethan closed his door behind the detective, he leaned against it and breathed a sigh of relief he didn't realize he was holding. He closed his eyes and placed his right hand over his heart.

"Oh delicate heart, I beg of you beat not too much and still yourself in reflection. My God, that man is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined! How will I ever be able to control myself alone in a room with him? His eyes, his scent, those nimble fingers. God help me, I may be in trouble."


End file.
